The New Year is a time for
optimism and the making of plans for the twelve months that stretch out ahead
of us. I have a lot to get through hopefully, with the continuation of the
three radio shows among other things. The PayPal button is working as intended,
but only small infrequent amounts, and the Kindle version of the blog only
brings in pennies so the film-making budgets aren’t massive. I have found someone who is interested in helping me to make my visions leave the page, and
thankfully it is someone who is interested in creativity first and foremost, by
which I mean they won’t be needing paying. If I was going to make money from it
then I would out of fairness have to pay for their services.
Self-employment has its
advantages; the hours are great and you can sit at your desk in your pants.
However, financially speaking it is something of a risk, especially in this day
and age of belt-tightening where people want to get a lot from you without spending
too much. I have wanted to get a regular job in order to keep the wolf from the
door for some time now, but I imagined that it wouldn’t be the easiest thing in
the world and I certainly don’t want to sign on. This morning I had a look
online and couldn’t really find anything suitable. I am not too proud to sweep
floors so I’m not deliberately looking for something out of my league. My ideal
situation would be a return to the postal service as that is one of the few
‘day jobs’ that I have genuinely enjoyed doing, it was well paid, provided exercise
and you didn’t have a boss breathing down your neck. Alas, Royal Mail is
something of a closed door to wannabe newcomers these days; it wasn’t an easy
task getting the job back when I did. I do sometimes regret leaving, but at the
time it was totally the right thing to do for the sake of my sanity. I had put
in for a transfer to another office so that I could leave my marriage prison,
unaware that Royal Mail don’t actually have a transfer system, it is a myth.
As a change of tactic I
searched online for employment agencies in Nottingham, and once I had removed
the unsuitable ones (nursing, rocket scientists) I had a list of phone numbers
to ring. Not one of the numbers fucking existed, which goes to prove a point
that I once made about the need to have a regular tidy up of the Internet. Just
as I was about to give up, Mandi rang to say that she had arranged an interview
for me at the magistrates court, which was pretty cool. I’m not in with a job
as a judge, as unfortunately I don’t have the Latin*.
*©Peter Cook
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